A Christmas Letter*

Dear Friends,

Just wanted to throw a quick note in with our Christmas card so that those of you who we haven't felt obliged to talk to for the last year can feel some small guilt this holiday season, secure in the knowledge that you have completely fallen out of touch with us.

Brian started the year off well. He won the inter-glacial ski-sailing championship in Norway despite heavy competition and a strong showing by the Canadians. He said at the time that he thought maybe they were spiking the akvavit** with extra caraway seeds, giving them an athletic edge, but it turns out the fortuitous mauling of the team captain by a randy moose kept them from capitalizing on this.

Maxine had a great year as well. While technically still not allowed within 100 yards of  the School for the Deaf, after what became known as the "The Mashed Potato Incident", she has found a way to surgically alter that one mole she has to look like Brent Musburger, as has always been her dream. She spends her afternoons lounging around the sanitarium and hurling insults at members of the staff, all of whom she now refers to a "Sir Mortimer Ponce Willobury Snee." They in turn, beat her nightly with soap wrapped in a towel.
But with love.

Little Marly had a tough go of it this year, between the failed application to Space Camp and the loss of her precious stuffed cat "Fucker", she spent all of 2008 filling her closet with earth from the back yard and then burying herself up to the neck in it. Don't worry about her though! She is still competeting in this December's State-wide Moaning tournament. We expect another silver medal at least!

And finally, after 19 long years of marriage, Patricia and I have finally decided that murdering her is the best possible way to end our relationship. She offered resistance to the idea at first but then she blacked out and the rest, as they say is for the courts to decide. Have Yourself a happy holiday season and I hope that you don't spend too much time filling out those silly legal actions again this year. Remember: If you got this card, we have your address!

XOXOXO,
Flint



* This is the kind of thing I never think of until too late. I think next year I am totally going to write a fictionalized Christmas letter and mail it to my whole family.

** Akvavit can also be spiced with corriander, if you're into that kind of thing (perv)

You're a Foul One, Mr. Crotch.

The Grinch was on last night and as we're sitting around watching them sing "Yahoo Door-ehs" or whatever the hell it is they've been singing at me for the last 30 fucking years, so that  you would think I'd know it by now,  when it occurs to me that even when I read the book by Dr. Seuss, the voice in my head sounds like Boris Karloff. 


Hmmm... I didn't know I could do that. Or rather I did but never thought about it. 

And then I start thinking about who else I have in my head. Definitely the guys from Monty Python pretending to be women everytime I think of the word "who?", because in my brain it's a high-pitched keening mispronunciated "Ooo?". (I am keenly aware that "mispronunciated" is not a word. I'm making up for it by using both variants of "keen" in the same paragraph. Also, shut up.) 

So now I'm thinking about Monty Python and trying to watch the Grinch, except every other goddamn word in The Grinch is "who" so that the opening sentence sounds like this:

"All the Ooos down in Ooo-ville liked Christmas a lot..."

Except the "Ooos" are all spoken in the Monty Python screech and the rest is Boris Karloff and none of it is my own "in my head" voice and it disturbs me greatly. Then The Boy jumped onto my head wearing only his underwear, and I ate crotch and it wasn't a Christmas miracle but just gross.

The End.


ps: The moral of the story: You should probably be reading something else.

pps: The underwear may have been clean but I give it like a 30-70 split percentage-wise.

ppps: This night was so uneventful on the grand scale of my life that I almost didn't blog about it, but then I realized eating boy-crotch should NOT be the "norm" of my experiences and maybe by writing about it I can better cope.